


Through His Eyes

by hearts_0f_kyber (rw_eaden)



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Bottom Finn (Star Wars), Car Accidents, Curses, Dream Sharing, Explicit Sexual Content, Gay Ben Solo, Gay Finn (Star Wars), Immortal Finn (Star Wars), Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Racism, Implied/Referenced Sexism, Implied/Referenced Transphobia, M/M, Magic, Major Character Injury, Minor Rey/Rose Tico, Monks, Past Character Death, Past Lives, Period Typical Bigotry, Roman Britain, Top Ben Solo, Trans Ben Solo, Victorian, Writer Ben Solo, mentions of switching, star-crossed lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-05
Updated: 2019-12-05
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:13:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21628168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rw_eaden/pseuds/hearts_0f_kyber
Summary: Finn was cursed with immortality long ago and has only recently reunited with his soulmate, Ben. Finn remembers everything, but Ben does not.
Relationships: Finn/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, Finn/Kylo Ren
Comments: 6
Kudos: 37
Collections: Finnlo-Focused Multiship Anthology 2019





	1. Chapter 1

Time is a funny thing. Theoretically, the older you are, the shorter it is, so a year at thirty is much faster than a year at fifteen. If you live long enough, you could lose weeks, months, or even years to the ticking clock of the universe. An hour could be a minute, a week could be a day, a century is a month. Generally, these rules holdfast. They do not apply to traffic lights, however. Traffic lights, since their invention, have been nothing if not time-sucking vortexes that test the patience of everyone stuck at them. Finn should know, he’s been stuck at more of them than anyone else on Earth. 

It’s a sunny Thursday, the first without rain in weeks. The summer is finally settling in after a wet spring and a wetter winter and Finn relishes it. He mourns the loss of every summer, even though they’re getting much hotter these days. He can spend more time out, the top of his well-loved convertible down so the breeze rushes through his loose clothes. Well, when he’s actually driving and not sitting at a red. 

Finn groans, pulling up further into the crosswalk. All he wants is to get some fro-yo and go home, but the cars won’t bunch up tight enough to make the turn. And the light is still red. And he’s been waiting for too damn long. 

The first opportunity to turn, he takes. Normally, this wouldn’t be a problem, except as he does a Ducati pulls out of the parking lot and they’re both going just the right speed for a collision. Finn slams the breaks just a hair too slowly, praying to anyone who cares to listen that he’s not going to pull the rider under. He parks it, throws on the hazards, and runs out into the street, heedless of the traffic. The bike is down and so is the rider, but thankfully neither is under the car. 

“Fuck, shit, oh my God, I’m so sorry,” Finn sputters in a panic. 

The rider sits up as best they can, with the bike half on top of them. Finn reaches down to pull the bike off but it’s much heavier than it looks. Still, it’s enough for the rider to scoot backward, into the gutter. 

“Are you okay?” Finn asks. The rider’s jeans are soaked with blood in spots. 

The rider shakes their head, face hidden behind the dark visor of their helmet. For a moment, Finn worries this poor man or woman is going to die in the gutter, and it’s all going to be his fault. But then they rip the helmet off. 

Those eyes. Those big brown eyes, like rich forests, glistening with tears. He knows those eyes. Could it be - 

“What the fuck is your problem,” the stranger, a man probably, shouts. “Call an ambulance or something. Fuck!” 

Finn snaps out of it, fishing his phone out of his pockets. 

“I’m so fucking sorry,” Finn says as he waits to connect to 911. 

The stranger groans, tears streaking down his face as he clutches his left knee. 

* * *

“I think,” says Lucius, “that this wall is useless.” 

“Shouldn’t say things like that,” the man who would eventually call himself Finn says. 

They’re sitting by a fire, acting as a night watch for the rest of the encampment. It isn’t supposed to take long to build this wall, but it has been. The land is much more uneven than he’s used to and every morning the air is thick with fog like grounded clouds. The fishing is fine but there’s nary a grape or olive of shaft of wheat in the whole island. And the natives, well - there’s a reason they’re building a wall. 

“They keep coming,” says Lucius. “Do you really believe this will do anything to keep them out?” 

“The Emperor does,” says Finn. 

“Aye. But the Emperor isn’t here.” 

Finn is about to correct his fellow soldier, to admonish him for his disobedience, when air rushes past his ear. Lucius hits the ground, a crude arrow pierced through his chest. Finn ducks down to seek cover and to do whatever he can to comfort his dying friend now that his life is coming to an end. He cannot say anything as the last gasp of breath crackles and chokes from his lungs. 

When Finn looks up again, the signal fire has already been lit, as arrows fly back in response. Finn scrambles for a weapon, as men further down the wall fall to the dirt. When Finn finally manages a shield and sword he rises, only to find himself meters away from a loaded arrow. He freezes in his chest, as do all other muscles. All he can do is stare at the firelight dancing in blue-lined eyes that pin him to the spot. They will be the last thing he ever sees. 

_ May Pluto receive me well _ , he thinks. 

And then… something tickles the back of his mind. It’s something warm and solid and real. He can see it, the realization in the bowman’s eyes. He lowers the weapon and in an instant, Finn is caught in something fast and warm and exhilarating, like riding on a horse through a meadow of sweet flowers. A tug in his chest beckons him forward, to the bowman, and he almost stumbles forward. 

The bowman flees in the opposite direction, taking the whirlwind with him. 


	2. Chapter 2

“You know, it wouldn’t kill you to take more time off,” Rose says while they’re sitting in traffic. 

“If I have to spend another week on my ass I’m going to lose my mind. Besides, Poe walked away and I need the money. It’s like, a sign from God.” 

Rose shakes her head. “I’m just saying you could postpone this. Tell the guy some asshole hit you with his car. I’m sure he’ll reschedule. ” 

“With someone else.” 

“Can you even write like this all hopped up on painkillers?” 

“Yes! Everyone knows you write drunk, or drugged I guess, and edit sober.” 

“You should be sleeping, not writing while intoxicated.” 

“Yeah, well we’re already on the road, aren’t we? Can’t take me back now.” 

“Oh, yes I can. Maybe I just dragged you out to get some breakfast.” 

“Please don’t get crumbs all over my car,” Ben groans, rolling his head back on the seat. 

“Oh wah. If I get crumbs everywhere I’ll vacuum them out.” 

Ben groans again. “It’s Italian leather.” 

“Ben Solo, quit your whining or I will take you back home. After the week I’ve had, having to see your penis - twice! - I think I deserve a little slack. If I get crumbs all over your precious car then so be it.” 

Ben sighs. He’s being a dick, he knows. It’s not that unusual of a state for him, given his personality, but the pain he’s in isn’t helping matters. He’s been laid up for little over a week after he got pinned under his bike by some asshole who wasn’t paying attention to traffic. He knows he’s lucky to have gotten out of it with just a broken leg and a bruised pelvis, but he’s still mad about it. And in pain about it. Thank goodness Rose was around. He’s had her as his emergency contact since college because she’s responsible and clever and local and unlike his mother, doesn’t give him a guilt trip about how he’s going to give her a heart attack. No, she just leaves crumbs in his car, which is significantly less annoying. 

“Sorry,” Ben says. “You’re right. You’ve been a good friend.” 

“Damn right I have.”

True to her word, Rose stops for breakfast and coffee. The white chocolate mocha helps Ben’s mood, at least. 

Finn Abrams lives in a house in a Tudor style home in the nice part of town where the homeowners can afford landscaping and the water bills for their nice yards. It’s the kind of neighborhood Ben grew up in, which is enough to set him further on edge than he already is. Rose sees it and offers a sympathetic smile. As a ghostwriter, Ben finds himself at the doorstep of all kinds of rich, annoying people who don’t have lofty ideas of fame and how important they are. Plenty of them want him to write their life stories, convinced their philosophies are groundbreaking and their boring family stories are worth something. Ben does write them, of course, but he’s yet to see a decent check after the advance he’s always paid. 

Rose drops him off, with the assurance that she can call the cops if he doesn’t text back in an hour letting her know he hasn’t been murdered, and Ben hobbles his way up the path before ringing the doorbell. 

The door opens, and the most unprofessional thing Ben Solo has ever said in his entire career falls from his lips: “Hey! You’re the dickhead who broke my leg!” 

“Oh, shit,” the man on the other side of the doorway says. 

“Yeah, oh shit,” Ben scoffs. “Tell me you’re not Finn Abrams.” 

“Sorry,” says Finn, the apparent dickhead. “Am I going to have to hire someone else now?”

“I don’t know, are you?” 

“That’s up to you.” 

“Fuck me,” Ben mutters to himself. He really needs this job. Prior to Poe dropping off the project, Ben was giving serious thought to moving back home and working in his father’s garage. Work has been so slow and working retail had been slowly killing his spirit before he quit. He doesn’t have the energy to actually write his own stuff anymore. So it’s either this or reconsider all his life choices up to this point over more Banquet brand dry frozen chicken in his mother’s attic. “You’re the guy who wants to write a fantasy romance novel? Are you serious?” 

Finn grimaces. “What’s wrong with wanting to write a romance?” 

“Nothing,” Ben says, rolling his eyes, “no. It’s not - look. I’m pissy right now because I got hit with a freaking car and I skimped on the painkillers so I could take this job so I need to know right now if I should ask to come inside or call my friend to come get me. Is this going to be awkward if I take this job?” 

Finn looks him up and down. “No. If you’re still willing to do this.” 

“You got an outline at least?” Ben asks. 

Finn takes a step to the side, gesturing to the inside of the house. “Of course.” 

Ben walks into the hall, then follows Finn into the rest of the house, not really bothering to look around. If you’ve seen one rich guy’s house you’ve seen them all. Instead, he sends a message to Rose so she won’t freak out and come into the house with her taser armed. They stop in what’s apparently Finn’s office, Finn taking a seat in the office chair, Ben taking the seat in the beanbag chair across the room, digging his notebook out of the shoulder bag he carries with him. He cracks his knuckles before getting to work. 

“Alright, so, before we get into it, you’ve read my terms, yes?” Ben asks, twirling a pen across his knuckles. 

Finn sits back in the rolling chair, fingers laced over his stomach. “Yes.” 

“Good. So. You’re writing a fantasy reincarnation romance.” 

“Yes.” 

Ben levels him with a flat look and rolls his wrist. 

“Oh! Oh, sorry.” 

Ben sighs. This guy doesn’t look that old. Maybe a few years younger than Ben if anything. It’s a little hard to think this guy doesn’t have anything written down about his supposed magnum opus. That’s usually a thing for older people. But he’d wanted to meet the writer in person, rather than over phone or email. Maybe he’s just old fashioned. 

“What am I working with, here?” Ben asks. “Where are we starting?” 

“Ancient Britain,” Finn says. “I’m - uh, the main character is a Roman soldier building Hadrian’s wall. The love interest is a Pict.” 

Ben scribbles notes onto his notepad. “I hope you’ve done your research because I know shit about British history,” he says. 

Finn chuckles. “I’ve got it covered.” 

“Good. So this is what? Star-crossed lovers? Disapproving families?” 

“On the Pict’s side. The Romans don’t care.” 

“Okay, so what happens?” 

“They meet in battle,” Finn says. “It’s an attack. The Picts attack the Roman settlement in the middle of the night but one of the Picts can’t shoot - “ 

“What are their names?” 

Finn gulps. “What?” 

“What are their names?” Ben looks up, taken aback for a moment at the startled and strained look on Finn’s face. He’s sweating a little, even though it’s cool in the house. It’s odd, but Ben isn’t going to say anything. It’s not his business. “If you have them, that is.” 

Finn nods. “The Pict’s name was Aodh. The soldier was Florian.” 

“Was? Did you change them, or..?” 

“Well they change over lifetimes,” Finn says. 

“Right. Got it,” Ben scribbles the names on his notes, chewing at his bottom lip. Something’s niggling at the back of his mind, something he’s forgetting. Oh! Right! “Is this supposed to be historically accurate, or is this going to be looser? I can do the dialogue, but as a forewarning, you’ll cut your audience down and it will take me longer if you want it to be completely period accurate.” 

Finn frowns. “Do whatever you think is best. You’re the writer.” 

“That’s not how this works. You’re the writer, I’m just the conduit through which your words flow. This isn’t about what I want, this is about what you want.” 

Finn eyes him strangely. “But you know more about it than I do.” 

Ben sighs. “It’s your vision. However you want it, I can do it. But I can’t do what I want to do or it’s not going to be anything like what you want.” 

“Fine. Can you do a mix of the two? I don’t want modern slang in ancient Rome but it’s unreasonable to ask you to do that much work.” 

“Right. Okay, so what’s the story?” 

Finn sits back in the chair, his hands folded over his stomach as he begins. It’s the story of two men, cursed and separated by time and circumstance, doomed to find and lose each other over and over again. It’s obviously a story Finn feels very passionately about, as his voice wavers and he has to clear his throat multiple times over the course of his telling. He cares a great deal, which is both good and bad for Ben in this instance. Good, because it means he knows what he wants but bad for the same reason. He’s going to have a hard time talking this guy out of some things if things need to be tweaked. Ben’s got a lot of work laid out for him and he’s not really looking forward to guessing at vocabulary - there’s a reason he doesn’t write historical fiction - but he reminds himself there’s actual money in it. 

“Okay,” Ben says after he’s scribbled down a few notes and Finn’s handed over an actual typed copy of a meager outline. “One more thing before I agree to do this.” 

“What’s that?” Finn asks. 

“I still want payout on the bike you wrecked.” 

“Why wouldn’t-” 

“I dunno. Just making sure we understand each other. This isn’t a wash just because you want me to do this for you.” 

“No, yeah. No problem,” Finn says. 

“Good, then I’ll email you the first chapter in a week.” 

Finn shows Ben to the door and helps him down the path to where Rose is waiting at the curb. She’s definitely not going to believe this. 


	3. Chapter 3

Email to: finnabrams@gmail.com 

From: bsolo@gmail.com 

> Here’s the first chapter of your novel. (Do we have a working title yet?) Notes are enabled so just leave as many as you want. Let me know how you feel about it and if this is the tone you’re going for. 
> 
> Best,    
>  Ben Solo 
> 
> Attachment: abramsdraft1.doc 

Finn hadn’t expected to hear back from Ben so soon. He hadn’t expected to hear back from him on amicable terms at all, frankly. He’d figured that hitting the guy with his car meant this was going to be another one of those lifetimes where it just didn’t work, as unfortunately common as those were. But this was good, mostly. He’d be in frequent contact with Ben for as long as it took to write his novel, and that was great. The whole novel idea had come one night when he’d been browsing social media, finding some cute story of a young couple who had found each other and fallen in love over fanfiction. That had given him the idea to write a book. Sure, he probably wasn’t going to become famous enough for his soulmate to find him through the book but he’d thought that the next time they met he could offer it as a recommendation and maybe jumpstart the reunion process. That was always painful, and anyway if he could, avoiding the struggle that came along with it was something he was willing to try out. He’d just gotten extremely lucky this time, finding Ben to write it. Perhaps the Gods were finally taking pity on him. Maybe his sorrow had finally softened Hera’s icy heart or Venus had felt a twinge of sympathy. 

Or maybe he’d just gotten extremely lucky. 

Whether it was the Gods, Fate, or sheer luck, Finn was grateful for it. He’d cherish this life, if for no other reason than he and his soulmate would get to write their life story together. 

Finn clicks the link, his heart fluttering like it always does when this starts. After nearly two thousand years he should be over it, but he isn’t. 

_ Florian’s feet sink into the mud as he makes his way through the crowded underbrush. The air reeks of rot, the sour current of earth and decay kicked up as every step churns through the sordid earth.  _

_ “They say the men here live in the trees, like animals,” [some Roman dude] says. “They rush through the tree trunks and disappear like ghosts.”  _

_ Florian glances at the trees, clustered thicker together than any he’s ever seen. They’re massive, thicker around than he is and higher than the buildings back home. He cannot see into the canopy, but he doesn’t doubt the possibility that whoever lives here would make their homes above the thick fog that hangs heavy over the land, hiding the treacherous land below his unsteady feet.  _

_ “They speak like animals, too. Grunting, hissing. Like the barbarians,” says [some other Roman dude].  _

_ Florian lets out a humorless laugh. “Hopefully more intelligent than the barbarians. We should hope to make proper subjects of the Empire out of them.”  _

Finn nearly swallows his tongue. This… no. This isn’t going to work. How could Ben get it so wrong? He was there, wasn’t he? Right, he doesn’t remember. Still, you’d think he’d know he’d gotten it wrong. 

Finn sets to work, leaving notes. 

* * *

To: bsolo@gmail.com

From: finnabrams@gmail.com 

> Hi Ben, 
> 
> So, I left some notes. It’s solid but… not really what I was going for. It’s too gloomy. Britain was gloomy and cold and awful, but Florian wasn’t that upset about it. He’s not a jaded kind of guy. That’s more Aodh’s deal. Anyway, I left notes. Keep in touch! 
> 
> Finn 

Ben scrolls through the notes Finn’s left, getting increasingly irritated as he goes. By the time he reads the fourth comment about why it’s not necessary for everyone to scowl and complain about the rain, he’s ready to slam the lid of his laptop closed. It’s not Finn’s fault, but it is. The man had given no instruction on how he was supposed to write ancient Britain. All he’d said about the tone was that it was star-crossed lovers. How else was he supposed to write something like that? Isn’t it supposed to be glum? The sun doesn’t shine until the lovers meet, which was a thing Ben had just written in the second chapter of the work. That’s the way it was supposed to be, wasn’t it? You were supposed to meet your soulmate and everything was supposed to feel better? The sun shone brighter, the birds chirped sweeter, and sex was hotter, right? At least that’s what the books on the subject said. Ben himself didn’t believe in soulmates. It’s a nice idea and if they did exist it would be great, but there isn’t a perfect person out there for him or anyone else. 

“What’s got you all-” Rose asks, frowning and waving her hand from the other end of the couch. 

“Work,” Ben says. 

“Picky writers?” Rose asks. 

“Aren’t they all?” 

“Wouldn’t know. I don’t like to torture myself like you do.” 

Ben rolls his eyes, ignoring her. “It’s either this or listicles for Buzzfeed. But seriously. This guy gave me almost zero direction and now he’s saying it’s too gloomy. It’s first century Scotland. It’s like the definition of gloomy.” 

“This is the romance guy, right?” 

“Yup.” 

“Oh, fun.” 

“I don’t hate it, you know. It’s just not my usual wheelhouse.” 

Rose hums. “Maybe you should hand this off to someone else? If it’s not something you know how to do and he’s already driving you crazy.” 

“Then what, Rose?” 

"You can always stay with me." 

Ben groans. "Thanks. But I can't."

“Why not? I’m staying with you right now. It’s working out well.” 

“Only because you get to keep spying on my neighbor,” Ben says. 

Rose jerks to sit upright, nearly kicking Ben in the face as she does. “I am not spying!” 

“You are.” 

“No! I just… notice her. You know.” 

“She’s single,” Ben says. 

“How do you know?” 

“She was dumping her ex’s shit a few weeks back. She said I could pick over the boxes and keep anything I liked. Apparently whoever ditched her changed their number.” 

“Changed their number? That’s not exactly a great sign.” 

“She doesn’t seem like the real stalker-y, boil your rabbits type,” Ben says. “I kinda got the vibe that whoever the ex was they were a douche. There were bikini chick car posters in those boxes.” 

“Ugh,” Rose groans. “So she’s straight.” 

“You can’t know that based on what tacky posters her ex kept.” 

“Why would any self-respecting lesbian, bisexual, pansexual, or otherwise live with someone who keeps bikini car chick posters?” 

“Maybe she has bad taste in partners?” 

“Gee, thanks, Ben.” Rose rolls her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest. 

“You know that’s not what I meant!” Ben says. 

Rose huffs. “It’s just my luck. She’s too pretty anyway. She’s out of my league.” 

“Bullshit she is,” Ben says. “You’re the best damn friend I’ve ever had. Any woman or man would be lucky to have you.” 

Rose rolls her eyes and gives him a sad little smile. “Yeah, yeah.” 

The conversation comes to a stop and the two of them drift back to what they were doing before, Rose watching TV and Ben reading his emails. The message from Finn isn’t all that surprising, he expected a few notes after he surrendered the first draft of the first chapter, but it still stings to hear you’re doing it all completely wrong. He re-reads over what he’s written so far. It’s not great, full of holes and place holders, but he’s not a fan of stopping in the middle of his work to search for names and look up facts. It’s disruptive to his flow. And these days, if he’s actually able to write something without taking a break three minutes into it, he’s going to keep that going as long as he can. 

_ He’s from Rome, not Mars. He’s seen the ocean before.  _

_ Are all these Romans different people? Your naming them “some Roman dude” isn’t really helpful.  _

_ Grape leaves are gross if they’re not salted. They were paid in salt, they’ve got plenty. Make them use it.  _

Ben reads more of Finn’s notes, this time with a less critical eye. He… okay, he has a point. Several points, actually. Ben sighs to himself and shuts the laptop. He’s going to have to go back and fix all this shit before he continues on chapter two, but that’s okay. He’ll get it eventually, he guesses. Actually… 

Ben re-opens the emails, rolling his eyes and waiting for the damn thing to load the sign-in screen again so he can get this done before he takes a damn nap again. 

Email to: finnabrams@gmail.com 

From: bsolo@gmail.com 

> Hey, can we meet sometime this week? I read your notes and I seem to have gotten it completely wrong. Would you mind sharing some of what you know/what you want to see? You know more about ancient Britain than I do so it would be best for both of us if you sat down and told me what’s what. 
> 
> Hope to hear from you soon,    
>  Ben Solo 

* * *

Finn chuckles, reading over the new email. He supposes he does know more about the ancient world than Ben does, at least at this point in time. But it’s just as well. He’ll get much more time to actually talk to Ben, see if he can get to know who he is this time around. 

To: bsolo@gmail.com

From: finnabrams@gmail.com 

> Hi Ben, 
> 
> That’s a great idea. Are you free on Wednesday? My schedule is fairly open, so let me know. Thanks! 
> 
> Finn 

He hits send, then makes a note on his grocery list to get some jasmine tea. His beloved has never turned down jasmine tea. It’s small, but it might be a start to getting him to come around more often. 


	4. Chapter 4

“The garden is looking well,” says Brother John as he comes to pass through the rows of freshly tended earth. 

“The weeds are coming in quicker this year,” says Brother Aaron. “If we’re not careful they’ll overtake the peas and cucumbers before they have a chance.” 

“That won’t be an issue for you,” says Brother John, “you have a talent for the greener things. We’re lucky to have you.” 

Brother Aaron smiles, ducking his head to hide it as he busies himself with trying the stalks of pea plants to their support rods. “I’m lucky to be here,” he says. It’s true. Had he spent much longer back home he’s not sure where he’d be now. Not that there was anything wrong with the little village he’d been born into or the tavern his mother kept, but there had been something restless in him that wasn’t settled with the life he’d been promised. Though it was much the same there as it is here, outside of Mass eight times a day, there is something more settling here. He can still tend the land and make ale, but he’s finally gotten his hands on the written word the Brothers have been so kind in helping him learn to read and write. Brother John, especially. 

“You know,” says Brother John, “there is no shame in feeling good about a job well done. Pride is a sin, yes, but you do your work well as the Lord has commanded, and there is joy in that.” 

When he looks up, brother Aaron catches the soft but hearty smile Brother John graces him with. His heart does a funny little flutter in his chest. He breaths a shaky thank you. 

...but there’s something… odd about this. He’s seen Brother John before, hasn’t he? Well, of course, he has, Brother John lives in the same monastery he does, they eat and sleep and pray together. But… they’ve met before that, haven’t they? 

“If I may ask about life before you joined the Order,” Brother Aaron finds himself saying, “were you ever in Leon?” 

“Leon?” Brother John says. “Can’t say that I have. That’s where you’re from?” 

“Close to. I only… I feel like I’ve seen you before.” 

A warmth spreads across Brother John’s face and the undercurrents of gold in his dark skin glow in the mid-morning sun. “About that-” 

The bells toll for Terce and Brother John’s smile slips. “We’ll talk again later,” he says. 

\----

Ben wakes feeling unsettled, as he would after a nightmare, but as far as he can remember he hasn’t had one, just one strange dream about being a monk. Granted, he’s heard that you can dream eight times in one night and only remember one or two, so maybe he’s had a nightmare that he just doesn’t remember. The monk one was a little strange, though. He’s never had dreams where he’s been someone else completely, so this was new. Maybe it means something? Dreams are supposed to have meanings, right? Probably something stupid, like he wants to get a new haircut or something. 

He’s already at Finn’s by the time he’s starting to feel more himself. Not completely like himself, but the haze of the dream has worn off. 

They settle into Finn’s living room, a silver tea set, and pastries already set out on the coffee table. Ben’s never had a tea service before, if that even is what Finn’s set out. He settles into the plush recliner across from Finn. 

“Would you like some? It’s jasmine?” Finn asks. 

“Yeah, sure,” Ben says. He’s not going to be rude, after all. 

Finn pours him a cup, two sugars and a splash of cream and hands it over. He pours it straight for himself. 

Ben stares at his cup, breathing in the steam. The only sound between the two of them is the idle ticking of a clock, somewhere in the house.

“So,” Ben says, lacking anything else to say. 

“So?” 

“Um. The book.”

“Right, the book,” Finn says. “Did you read the notes?” 

“I did,” Ben says, taking a sip of his tea. He almost burns his tongue on it. “Too gloomy?” 

“Yeah, a bit,” Finn says. “It’s just…”

“Not what you were going for?” 

“Right.” 

“So I guess,” Ben says, taking another sip of his tea, “Tell me more about what you’re trying to get across. I’m assuming this is a tragedy-”

“No, no it’s a romance.” 

“A romance where one person keeps dying over and over again. How is that not a tragedy?” 

Finn frowns, setting his tea down on the table. “Have you ever been in love, Ben?” 

Ben scoffs. “Of course.” 

“With who?” 

“College boyfriend,” Ben says. 

“What happened?” 

“Same thing that usually happens. It was fun while it lasted but he went to grad school somewhere else and I stayed here.” 

“If he were to show up again, would you want to get back together with him?” Finn asks. 

Ben shrugs. “I don’t know. Probably not. We haven’t spoken in years.” 

“Then he’s not your soulmate.” 

Ben scoffs. “Soulmates? Yeah, I’d say that’s unlikely.” 

“You don’t believe in soulmates?” 

“No. It’s a nice idea but they don’t exist. There’s not just one perfect person out there for me or anyone else. And if there is, my luck is that he’s in Kazakhstan or something.” 

Finn’s lip wobbles just a little before he leans forward, hands rubbing his jeans. “Well, maybe. Sometimes soulmates don’t always meet in every lifetime.” 

Something clicks in Ben’s mind just then and the snarky reply on the tip of his tongue dies before it leaves his lips. “What were they like?” 

“Who?” Finn asks. 

“Your… soulmate, I suppose?” 

Finn smiles. “A contrarian dick, honestly.” 

Ben snorts. 

“No, really. He was always a bit of a stubborn pain in the ass. Always sure of himself, which was great sometimes and annoying others. But he had a good heart, deep down. Never really got along with his family, though he loved them, always. Lots of inner turmoil. But I’ve never met anyone who loved as fiercely.” Finn is still smiling, though his eyes are wetter now than they had been when he started talking. 

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Ben says. 

“No,” Finn says. “There’s no loss. I’ve loved him all my life and I’ll continue for the rest of time, whether he’s with me or not. I can’t count the moments we’ve touched as a loss even if he isn’t-” Finn clears his throat, “I haven’t lost anything.” 

Ben nods, swallowing around the sudden tightness in his throat. “Right. Well.” So that’s what this book is about then. This isn’t just some love story, this is Finn’s love story. “I don’t… I’ll think about that when I’m writing.” 

Finn leans back against the chair again, picking his tea back up and sipping. 

“I’ll try my best with this,” he says, and he means it. “I may not be able to get it exactly the way you want it, but I’m going to try.” 

“I don’t think it will be an issue for you,” Finn says. “I’m lucky to have you writing this.” 

Ben swallows, head swimming a little. “Th-thank you.” 

\---

Over the next few weeks Ben finds himself in a bit of a funk. He can write alright, and he hasn’t gotten any more harsh notes from Finn, but he’s feeling… off. He’d chalk it up to the meds, but he’s already waned off of them and mostly sticks to ibuprofen for the pain. It is a sort of drugged feeling, though. More like taking too much cold medicine than being high on painkillers, though. 

“So anyway, that’s what he said,” Rose says over her shoulder. She’s still insisting on hanging around, carrying his laundry from the basement back up to his second-story apartment. He’s grateful, given that he’s still on crutches, but he has to give her at least a token protest every time she does it. Which is every Thursday at this point. 

“Oh,” Ben says. He’s not actually listening to her, but it’s rude to not say anything. 

“What a dick, right?” 

“Definitely.” 

“I mean, would you keep shopping there? Their prices are great but come on. Guys like that don’t deserve the business.” 

“No, nu-uh.” 

“I should’ve slashed his tires,” Rose says. 

“Sure.” 

“Ben! You’re not listening!” 

Ben starts, nearly tipping over on his crutches when Rose stops abruptly in front of him. “I was!” 

“I just suggested slashing someone’s tires and you said  _ sure _ .” 

“Some people deserve to have their tires slashed.” 

Rose rolls her eyes. “Don’t lie. You weren’t paying attention. You haven’t been paying attention all day.” 

“I have been. Honest.” 

“Right, then what was I saying downstairs?” 

“...you were craving cookies right?” 

Rose squints at him. “That was a lucky guess.” 

It was, but they’re not best friends for nothing. Ben shrugs as best he can with his arms held up. 

“But you have been weird all day, you have to admit.” 

“Yeah, I don’t know why. I’m feeling pretty… spacey.” 

“Been sleeping?” 

“Yeah yeah,” Ben says. “The usual four hours.” 

“Well, that’s your problem! You’re still injured, you know. You need more sleep than normal and you need more sleep than your normal anyway.” 

“I’m a super sleeper,” Ben says. 

Rose rolls her eyes. “That’s not a thing.” 

“It is, actually. We can get a full eight hours worth of sleep in half the time. Like a supertaster but useful.” 

“You’re super full of shit,” Rose says. She turns around and starts walking, and Ben doesn’t have time to call out before she runs right into Ben’s neighbor, Rey, who was too busy looking down at the papers in her hand to see Rose coming right towards her with a basket of clothes. 

The girls both crash into each other, the basket of clothes and papers falling to the ground. 

“Look out,” Ben says unhelpfully as they both slip to the floor. 

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” says Rose. 

“Oh shit,” says Rey. 

Both girls scramble to collect the others things, Rey’s slightly crumpled pages in Rose’s hands and Ben’s now unfolded clothes flung back into the basket. They stutter and apologize over each other, each eager to take fault for not paying attention to what they’d been doing. Ben just shakes his head and chuckles. He opens his mouth to say something, but it stalls in his throat as a haze falls over him. 

The smell of damp earth and sweat overtakes clean laundry and his neighbor’s curry. The air is thick with moisture, clinging to the skin on the back of his neck. 

_ You should be more mindful of where you go.  _ A familiar voice says.  _ Too easy to get lost. There are things here that would love to kill you.  _

_ Like yourself?  _ A different but no less familiar voice says. 

Ben’s heart flutters in his chest. His ears start to ring. 

_ If I wanted to you’d already be dead.  _

_ Why haven’t you killed me, then?  _

Ben’s mouth makes the shape of the words before he’s fully aware of it. “A good question, isn’t it?” 

“Ben?” Rose’s voice echoes a little, cutting through the fog in his mind. 

He shakes himself. “Yeah, what?” 

“Are you… are you okay?” she asks. 

The scent of earth and the damp feeling leaves him quickly, blown away like dust. “Yeah. Yeah, why?” 

“You kind of spaced out there for a minute,” Rey says, squinting at him. “Started talking to yourself. It was weird.” 

“He does that, sometimes,” Rose says. “The talking to himself. Not the spacey thing. He’s a writer.” 

“Oh,” Rey says. 

Ben’s brain feels like it’s been slathered with vaseline, so he just nods in agreement. 

“I think I need to get him home,” Rose says. “I was nice - er - talking to you, I guess.” 

Ben’s far too out of it to pay attention to what happens next. The next thing he knows he’s in his own bed, tasting charcoal on his tongue. 

“Ben, you’re seriously starting to freak me out,” Rose says. She’s staring down at him, fussing with his hair and pressing the back of her hand to his forehead. 

“I’m okay,” he says, not totally feeling it. He doesn’t feel bad, just like he’s about to fall asleep at any moment. “I think I’m just way more worn out than I thought.” 

“I told you you should be sleeping more.” 

Ben sighs. “I think you’re right.” He shuts his eyes. “I think I’ll just take a nap.” 

He can feel Rose frowning, even with his eyes closed. “I’m gonna stay, okay? Can’t have you dying on me.” 

“Right, right, of course.” 

But Ben is out before she can say anything else. He dreams of the song of a forest, the birds and the deer and the badgers, of running on bare feet through a marsh, of damp air and whistling wind and warm lips against his own. 


	5. Chapter 5

“You know, I’ve never actually seen a full soccer game,” says Ben. 

“It’s a shame. The US women’s team is incredible,” says Finn. 

They’re sitting on his couch, watching an exhibition match between Bulgaria and Paraguay in Finn’s living room. It’s been six weeks into their partnership and Ben’s done excellent work on the book. After their first little speed bump, the writing has gotten a lot easier. Ben’s hardly needed any direction from Finn to get the setting or the characters right, though he is much better at Aodh’s side of things, for good reason. That’s okay though, that’s what Finn is here for. 

“You ever play sports in school?” Ben asks. 

“No,” Finn says, “Not really.” Which isn’t a lie, because he never actually went to school. He got his education through service in the Empire. 

“Didn’t you ride horses for sport, though?” Ben asks. “I could’ve sworn you told me you rode horses.” 

“Not for sport,” says Finn. 

“I’ve never ridden a horse,” Ben says. “I’m probably too big.”

“Nah, there’s big horses out there. You could ride a Clydesdale.” 

Ben snorts. “Yeah, okay. I’d probably fall off and break my neck.” 

“Or get trampled,” says Finn. 

“Or someone else on a horse would come along and trample me.” 

Finn frowns, unsure what to say until Ben laughs. 

“I’m giving you shit, you know,” he says. 

“Oh,” Finn laughs, unsteady. “Right. I am still really sorry about that,” he says. 

Ben shrugs. “At least you didn’t break my pelvis or something,” he says. 

Finn winces. “Still. I am sorry.” 

“I know,” says Ben. “And it’s okay.” 

Finn wants to argue that it’s not, not really, but he decides against it. It’s not worth arguing over something so stupid. He’s sorry and Ben’s apparently over it enough to not only work on his book but stick around and watch sports with him so obviously, it’s not the end of the world. And good thing, too. He’d hate to live another lifetime where his soulmate is pissed off at him. 

They sit through a few back and forth rounds of soccer in which neither team scores any points and more than a few players wind up eating grass before Finn gets bored and wanders into the kitchen, scrounging up some snacks. The microwave popcorn is easy enough - everyone loves microwave popcorn - but the drinks are a little harder. He hasn’t kept soda in his house since coca-cola stopped putting cocaine in their drinks because the taste just isn’t the same anymore, but other than wine, beer, and water, he really doesn’t have anything to drink. He wonders if this Ben likes beer. He’s never really known his soulmate to like the stuff, too hoppy if he recalls correctly, but it seems a little… pretentious to crack open a bottle of zinfandel to watch soccer with. 

“What do you want to drink?” Finn calls from the kitchen, “I have some beer or wine or water.” 

“What, no tea?” Ben asks with a snort. 

“No, I ran out,” says Finn. He knew he forgot something last time he went shopping. Stupid tea shop, all the way on the other side of town. Yes, he could just get the cheap stuff from the grocery store but it’s not even close to the same.

“Whatever’s fine with me,” he says. 

Finn sighs, grabbing the bottle of wine and uncorking it, bringing it and a couple of glasses into the living room. 

“Oh, fancy,” says Ben as Finn pours the pink wine into their glasses. “I thought you didn’t like white,” he says. 

“But you do,” says Finn. 

They both realize what they’ve said the minute they’ve said it, staring at each other with furrowed brows and open mouths, though Ben’s is a lot more confused than Finn’s is. 

“I… do?” says Ben. 

“I mean, I just kind of assumed,” says Finn to cover his ass. “You seem like a white wine guy.” 

Blessedly, the microwave beeps and summons Finn back into the kitchen, out of the awkward moment. 

When the popcorn is sufficiently salted and transferred into a bowl, Finn sets it down on the table, taking his spot back on the right side of the couch. Ben’s brow is still wrinkled in confusion as he sips his wine. They sit in silence for a while, as Finn pretends to watch the game. He really does enjoy soccer, but it’s hard to focus when his soulmate is sitting next to him, close enough that he can smell the spiced-sweet aroma of his cologne. It’s been so long since their last go-round, eighty years at least, and the last time wasn’t one of the better ones. They loved each other, they always do, but circumstance is always cruel. Last time it was the war that tore them apart, though after what happened in the decades after, Finn’s almost glad that it was the war. He was there during the riots and the plague. The thought of his beloved, torn from him again, dragged through the street, he can’t bear it again. 

_ You are a curse upon us. You would have us enslaved in our own lands for your greed. You are a disease.  _

Finn shudders at the memory of the old woman, her eyes alight with rage as she held Aodh by his hair, his face already bloody and blistered. Once they’d been caught there was no mercy for either of them. If only the Empire had been successful in the north. But they weren’t and there was no helping Aodh. For centuries after Finn awoke screaming, the phantom blood of his beloved on his hands, crying and clutching at a ghost that wasn’t there, rocking himself like he’d rocked the arrow-riddled body of his beloved from dusk ‘til dawn. 

“Finn?” Ben’s voice pulls him back from his memories, and he realizes that once again he’s rocking back and forth. “Are you alright?” 

“Oh.” The word shakes out of his mouth. “Yeah, sorry. Just… got lost in my thoughts.” 

He takes a moment to look at Ben, really look at him. He’s alive and he’s here, on Finn’s couch, drinking Finn’s wine, sharing Finn’s company. It’s okay. He’s okay. 

“Are you sure? You look like you’re about to pass out.” 

Finn sucks his bottom lip into his mouth. “No, yeah, I’m fine. Totally fine,” he says. 

Ben’s lips twitch, his gaze making an uneasy sweep over Finn’s semi-hunched body. “Been spacing out a lot recently?” he asks. 

“Eh. A little,” Finn says. Not all that much more than usual, but the first time getting reacquainted with his soulmate tends to leave him on shaky ground. 

“That’s weird. I’ve been doing that, too,” says Ben. “Rose, my friend, keeps telling me I should see a doctor. She’s worried the accident fucked with my head.” 

“Well, I haven’t hit my head recently,” says Finn. “And I’d think a head injury would’ve come up when they did X-rays.” 

“That’s what I keep telling her but she doesn’t listen to me.” 

“It’s good she’s worried about you, though. It’s good to have that,” Finn says. 

“Yeah, she’s great. A little bit of a worrier, but she’s not my mom.” 

“You don’t get along with your mother?” 

“No, it’s not like that. It’s just… she wants what’s best for me but her idea of what’s best for me and my idea of what’s best for me aren’t always the same. You know how she is; thinks she’s got the answers to everything and everything would be fine if the rest of the world just shut up and listened. Sometimes I think she’d tell God what to do if she could get away with it,” Ben says. 

Finn snorts. “She sounds like a lot.” 

Ben rolls his eyes, taking a large drink of wine. “You really have no idea. I mean, you think you know but you - wait what?” He stops himself, shaking his head. “Sorry, no, you don’t know her.” 

“I’m sure I’ve met women like her,” says Finn. 

Ben shakes his head and purses his lips. “I’m sorry. That was…” 

Finn reaches out, putting his hand on Ben’s shoulder. “It’s okay,” he says. 

Ben’s face is pinched in a mix of confusion and pain. He licks his lips and looks down at his hands, flexing his fist where it sits in his lap. He lets out a slow exhale. “Can I say something weird?” 

“How weird, abducted by aliens weird or eats mayo right out of the jar weird?” 

Ben snorts. “Really? That’s your scale of weird?” 

Finn shrugs, smiling. Ben’s lips quirk into a small smile, so light and soft a gentle breeze could carry it away. Finn’s heart beats just a little harder in his chest. 

Ben clears his throat and looks back down at his chest. His shoulders relax, but only just. “I feel like I know you,” says Ben. 

“Well you do, don’t you? We’ve been talking every day for six weeks.” 

“No. Like… I feel like I should know you. Better than I do.” 

Finn nods. “Do you believe in reincarnation?” 

“No, not for a second,” Ben says. 

Finn shakes his head. “You never do,” he mutters to himself. 

"What was that?" Ben asks. 

"Some people believe that if you feel a connection with someone you don't know well, it's because your souls know each other," says Finn. 

“Like Biblically?” 

Finn snorts. “Not always. Sometimes. Mostly it just means that you were close once upon a time.” 

Ben hums, sipping his drink. “So you think we knew each other in some past life.” 

“If you think it’s too weird-” 

“No, no. I guess… it’s just different, I guess. I’m not really religious but I can see how it’s comforting, believing that there’s something after this life. That people you care about don’t leave you,” says Ben. 

“That’s what helps me,” Finn says. 

They’re quiet for a while, again. The tension in the air is a tangible thing, a question unanswered, a thought unspoken. It’s too early to bring any further revelations to Ben’s awareness, no matter how badly Finn would like to. It never goes well if he brings up their shared fate before things get more serious. 

“Do you think people can remember their past lives?” Ben asks. 

“It’s possible. I just don’t think most people want to,” Finn says. 

“Why not?” 

“Well, it’s a lot, you know? Things aren’t always great, especially not for people like you and me.” 

“You think things like that stay the same? Like I’ve been gay in every life I’ve ever lived?” asks Ben. 

“Some things are innate.” 

“I see why I’d never want to remember any of it then.” 

“It wasn’t always bad like it has been,” Finn says. “The Romans, the Greeks, various other cultures through time and in different corners of the globe.” 

“Except when it’s bad it’s really bad.” 

“Yeah.” Finn swallows, willing himself not to think of the first time, of the way the light faded from his beloved’s eyes. 


	6. Chapter 6

“Oh my god, you have to try this,” Rose says, shoving her spoon in Ben’s face. 

Ben nods absently, opening his mouth so she can share her ice cream. “Wow,” he says, licking his lips, “That tastes like cheesecake.” He’s never had rolled ice cream before, and honestly, he’s been a fool. There’s been a shop in the mall for as long as he can remember, but he never actually tried it. He had no idea they made the stuff right in front of you and used real fruit and cookies and things. 

Rose hums around her own spoonful. “Maybe next time you’ll get one instead of boring old vanilla.” 

“It’s not Vanilla, it’s Cookies and Cream. That’s not boring,” he says. Of course, he’s not going to admit that the only reason he got Cookies and Cream was because they didn’t have Vanilla and he wasn’t willing to risk paying for Taro Root, whatever the hell that is. 

“Sure,” Rose says, waving her spoon at him. “At least my ice cream got your attention away from that stupid phone for five seconds.” 

Ben sets his phone down on the table between the two of them. “Sorry. It’s this chapter.” 

“It’s always a new chapter, isn’t it?” 

“Look, I’m sorry, okay? But I haven’t made that much progress in the past week.” 

“Probably ‘cause you need a break.” 

“I’ve had a break all week.” 

“Not writing because you’re stressed about writing is not a break, Ben.” 

“Yeah, well, it needs to get done,” says Ben, pulling the half-soggy cookie out of the ice cream cup and stuffing it in his mouth. 

Rose frowns. “You work too hard. You’ve been over at Finn’s a lot.” 

“I wasn’t working, though,” Ben says, wiping his mouth. 

“No?” 

“No. We just hung out a bit. He’s not a bad guy.” 

“He hit you with his car.” 

Ben shrugs. “Nobody’s perfect.” 

Rose smirks that awful, insufferable little smirk she always gets when she’s up to no good. “You like him.” 

“Like I said, he’s not bad.” 

“No, you  _ like _ him.” 

Ben scoffs. “No.” 

“You do!” 

“He’s not unfortunate looking.” 

“Your ears are turning red,” Rose says. 

Ben cups his hands over his ears, even though he’s pretty sure his hair is long enough that she can’t see them. “Shut up.” 

Rose giggles. “You liiike him.” 

“What are you, twelve?” 

“Are  _ you _ ? You’re the one denying you have a crush.” 

“I do not have a crush. He’s attractive, I’ll give you that-” 

“You wanna kiss him,” Rose sings. 

“He’s a client.” 

“You wanna date him,” Rose sings again. 

“That’s irrelevant.” 

“You wanna bone him,” she sings. 

“Have you talked to Rey at all? Or do you still stand there like a lost puppy when she passes you in the hallway?” 

“We’re not talking about me right now,” says Rose. 

“You have no right to tease me about… about  _ a crush  _ if you won’t do anything about yours.” 

Rose pouts. “Fine, I’ll drop it. But you must really have it bad if you’re getting this defensive.” 

“I am not defensive!” 

Rose laughs. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, Solo. By the way, are we still down to go to the apothecary?” 

Ben groans. “Yeah, we’ll still go. I don’t know why you keep going to that lady, though. Psychics are a load of crap.” 

“Always so skeptical. Would it kill you to have a little faith in something that doesn’t make sense?” 

“I don’t know, it could! Some psychic could tell me that I’m going to die old and grey and so I’ll stop worrying about crossing the street and then get hit by a car.” 

“Okay, number one, you’re not that stupid. Number two, you’ve already met your getting hit by a car quota for the century. And three,” she stuck out her tongue at him. 

“I’m just saying. It’s a waste of money.” 

“It’s only $15 for a half-hour. Besides, it’s nice to believe that I have some control over all this,” she spreads her arms out, wide. “And you don’t know. She could be the real deal. Just cause you’ve never met a real psychic.” 

“There are no real psychics. Psychics, reincarnation, soulmates, it’s all hoopla.” 

“No one said anything about soulmates,” Rose says. 

“It’s what Finn’s book is about,” says Ben. 

“I thought you said it was about reincarnation,” she says. 

“It’s both. Reincarnated soulmates. I think he’s working through something. His boyfriend died.” 

“That’s so sad. When?” 

“Dunno,” Ben shrugs, scooping half a roll of ice cream into his mouth. 

“Is that why you’re not trying to get with him?” 

Ben rolls his eyes. “He’s a client.” 

“And he’s still in love with a dead man.” 

“Well, there’s that.” 

Rose leans over the table and squeezes his shoulder. “It’s okay.” 

“I’m not upset about it,” Ben says, though it’s not quite the truth. It’s just unfortunate. Maybe if things had been different, but then again that’s not exactly a line of thought Ben wants to go down. He’s never met Finn’s former boyfriend but Finn obviously loved him. Loves him. It’s not right to think about what might’ve happened if Finn never met him. It’s stupid. 

Rose frowns but doesn’t push. Instead, she says: “hurry up and finish, I want to go to Sephora before we get out of here.” 

* * *

Maz’s Metaphysical Emporium and Apothecary isn’t all that bad, actually. It’s a little woo, but that’s to be expected. But it smells nice - like flowers and musk - though Ben wouldn’t be able to pick out the flower if his life depended on it. It’s well lit, not like those strange smokey shops he’s seen in movies and tv shows, and most of it looks like a legit business. There are herbs and flowers on display and for sale, and colorful banners and prayer flags on the walls. There’s a wall of house-made incense, tarot cards, and books for sale, and various statues of goddesses and gods with… generous endowments. There are even a few candles shaped like dicks and others with carved vulvas closer to the back of the store. But other than the very blatant sexual implications on display it’s like any other store. 

Maz, however, is not like what he’d pictured the owner of one of these shops. She’s got a long bohemian blue top flowing off her shoulders and three-quarters of the way down her arms. The shirt is tucked into bright orange flight pants. On her face are glasses as wide and thick as coke bottles. She’s also only about as tall as Ben’s hip. 

“Rose!” she shouts, coming in from the back. “Good to see you again, girl. And you brought a friend!” 

“This is Ben,” Rose says, putting her hand on his arm. 

“Ah,” she says slyly. “The best friend. We’ve heard plenty about you, haven’t we?” 

“I… have you?” Ben says. 

“He’s a skeptic,” says Rose. 

Maz tilts her head, sliding her glasses up higher on her nose. “Really? You?” 

“Um. Yes?” 

Maz shakes her head, a smile pushing her already high cheeks higher, almost hiding her eyes. “Not for long.” 

Ben rolls his eyes. “Psychics are fake. Sorry.” 

“We’ll see,” she says. “I assume your usual?” she asks Rose. 

Rose nods. 

“He coming with?” 

Ben shakes his head. 

“Fine then. Come on back, dear.” She leads Rose back behind a purple moon patterned curtain, leaving Ben alone in the store, save for the one employee who’s standing around the counter, doing whatever he’s doing. 

Ben wanders for a bit, running his fingers over things and taking it all in. Some of the stuff is normal, like the little candles and the essential oils, but some of it… well, he’s not sure how they have grave dirt, or whether or not it’s real, and he’s not really keen on asking. He does keep finding his eyes drawn to the statues, though. Large men with horns on their heads, women stirring cauldrons, a fierce woman with fire in her eyes and ravens at her feet. He finds himself wandering over, fingertips ghosting over the bronze. He feels… odd, like he does when he zones out, but in reverse. He’s never been more connected to his own body, to every sense he’s experiencing. The bronze is smooth beneath his fingers, the air conditioning of the shop blowing goosebumps on his skin, the soft insoles of his sneakers and the light smoke of incense. 

The smoke, thin and wispy curls, dances in the air before fading into nothing. It doesn’t stick in his throat or soak into his clothes, isn’t born from vigilant fires that pierce the night like arrows. It’s not the same as it once was when herbs were burned to ward off evil spirits, to beg assistance in driving foreigners out of their forests and scampering into the lowlands where they were easy targets. It’s not like the smoke that took London, either, so long ago, that stole breath while the flames ate through the streets, leaping from building to building until there was nothing left. It’s not like the smoke of tobacco that bastard husband of his used to have in the evenings, in the parlor where he wasn’t allowed because the  _ men _ were talking business and he was too  _ delicate  _ to hear any of it. 1883 was a bad year. 

“Ben!” Ben’s so startled he knocks the statuette off the table. Rose is shaking him again, looking at him like he’s done something terrible. 

“What?” he snaps, pulling his arm out of her grip. 

“I’ve been talking to you for five minutes! What the hell is going on with you? You were catatonic!” 

“Sorry, I was just…” He looks down at the statue at his feet. It’s the woman with the ravens at her feet. He stoops to pick it back up, glad when he sees the price tag that it’s still intact. “I was just thinking,” he says. 

“I thought you were past zoning out,” Rose says, nose wrinkling as she purses her lips. 

“I’m fine,” he says. 

Maz wiggles her way between the two of them, resting a soft, wrinkled hand on his arm. “Are you sure you’re okay? You look a little pale.” 

Ben nods, though he doesn’t completely feel it. His thoughts are… jumbled. Why the hell would he be thinking about fires in London? Or a husband? 

“Come,” Maz says, leading him towards the curtain in the back. “You need to sit down.” 

Ben doesn’t protest, mostly because, despite his protests, he’s feeling a bit like he’s been dropped on his head and he’s not sure his legs are going to hold him up any longer. 

Maz leads him back to the back, which isn’t a separate room but a sectioned off part of the main room. He’s sat down at a small circular table, and Rose takes the seat next to him. The table is covered in black crushed velvet, a stack of tarot cards sitting in the center. Maz makes her way to a small bookshelf on the wall where an electric kettle sits, ready-light glowing red. She pours hot water into a mug, adds a teabag, and sets it in Ben’s shaking hands. 

“What happened, boy?” Maz asks, firm but compassionate. 

“I don’t know. I just… zoned out.” 

“He’s been doing this a lot,” Rose says. “Ever since he got hit by that car. I keep telling him he needs to see a doctor.” 

“My head was fine,” he says. “I wear a helmet. I’m not a dumbass.” 

“It could be delayed bleeding or something,” Rose says. 

“My brain is fine,” he says, clutching the mug tighter. 

“Where did you go, when you zoned out just then?” Maz asks. 

Ben sighs. “If you’re going to tell me something woo-” 

“I was a registered nurse before I opened this shop, you know,” Maz says. “I’m not here to tell you you’ve astral projected, as much as you’d enjoy dismissing that.” 

A small laugh sneaks past Ben’s lips, despite himself. “Okay, okay. Fine. I just… I don’t know. I started thinking about smoke and then fires.” 

“Have you ever been in a fire?” Maz asks. 

“Not… no. I’ve never been in a fire.” 

“You’re sure?” 

Ben nods. “I just… I was thinking about London.” 

“Have you ever been to London?” Maz asks. 

“I wish.” 

Maz hums. “Do you remember why you were thinking about smoke in the first place?” 

“The incense. I could see the smoke in the air. And then… well, that happened.” 

Maz nods, folding her hands under her chin. “Scent is our strongest sense linked to memory. Sometimes a smell can be a trigger. And, forgive me if I’m being presumptuous, but I’ve seen that reaction before.” 

“What does it mean?” Rose asks. 

“Usually PTSD,” says Maz. 

“I’m not traumatized.” 

Maz hums. “You said this started to happen after you had a car accident?” 

“It wasn’t like that,” Ben says. “It was minor. I got knocked off my bike and broke my leg but it wasn’t life or death.” 

“That doesn’t always matter,” Maz says. 

“Yeah, but if I’m traumatized shouldn't I be thinking about the accident? When I zone out it’s just… weird stuff. Like ancient Scotland and being a French monk and drowning in Paraguay.” 

“That’s… weirdly specific,” Rose says. 

“Yeah, I know,” says Ben. 

“What happened after the accident? Have you… met anyone new recently? Been going back to the same places? Discovered a new favorite food?” Maz asks. 

“I have a new client,” Ben says. “He wants me to write this book for him. But other than that it’s nothing out of the ordinary. Honestly, I think it’s just the book’s contents that are getting to me. It’s this reincarnation thing.” 

Maz nods then smiles. “I see.” 

“What?” 

“What what?” 

“What does ‘I see’ mean?” Ben asks. 

Maz stands, shuffling over to the bookshelf to heft a crystal ball half her size off one of the shelves. “Rose dear, would you get the cards?” 

Rose pulls the tarot cards off the center as Maz sets the crystal ball down, stand and all, on the center of the table. 

“Oh, so now you’re going to get woo on me?” 

“I am a witch,” Maz says, sitting down across from Ben. Her face is distorted in the crystal, her owl eyes even wider through it. “Do you want answers or not?” 

Ben huffs. “Do you have answers?” 

Maz peers at him over the ball before setting both hands flat on the table, pulling in a deep breath and shutting her eyes. Ben glances at Rose, shrugging his shoulders. She rolls her eyes and watches Maz. When Maz opens her eyes again she’s staring directly into Ben’s eyes. 

“Give me your hands,” she says, holding her hands palms up. 

“I don’t really-” 

“Ben!” Rose chides. “Just do it.”

Ben hesitates. He’s still a little shaken up from whatever just happened and he doesn’t really go in for this crap but… there’s a part of him, just a tiny little part, that wills him to act. What’s the worst that can happen here, really? He’s just gonna be out fifteen bucks, is all. 

Ben sets his hands over Maz’s. She can barely wrap her hands around his wrists. 

A tense silence falls over the three of them as Maz stares into the crystal ball. Ben and Rose don’t dare to even breathe too loudly as Maz squints, making absolutely no attempt at theatrics. Her pulse beats against his fingertips, steady and slow, and it helps a little. He’s less freaked out now than he was, at least. 

“Are you seeing anything?” Ben whispers after a while. 

“Shh,” Maz responds. 

“Sorry.” 

Ben starts to feel a little lightheaded, not like he’s about to zone out but more like when he stands up too quickly. Maz hums lightly, catching his eyes over the crystal once more. This time she does speak. 

“Do you want the good news or the bad news first?” she asks softly. 

“Bad, I guess.” 

“You’re cursed,” she says. 

Ben barely resists snorting his disbelief. “Well, that’s great.” 

“A long time ago your people believed you had transgressed against them, so they took their fear and anger out on you. You’ve been damned to a restless eternity, forever to walk the earth without rest in the Summerland,” says Maz. 

“I’m not a ghost, though,” says Ben. 

“Ghosts don’t want, do they? When they said walk the earth they literally meant  _ walk the earth _ .” 

_ Forever will you wander. May you never find safe harbor with your people. We abandon you as you have us.  _ A voice hisses in Ben’s ear. His face aches suddenly like he’s been hit repeatedly. His eyes burn. 

“What did I do?” Ben asks. 

“Had the audacity to fall in love,” Maz says. 

There’s an ache in Ben’s lungs like they won’t fill. He takes a few deep breaths just to make sure he still can. There’s nothing wrong with him, it just feels like there is. Phantom pains blossom in his flesh, stinging the skin and tensing his muscles. 

“What’s going on?” Ben asks, clenching his fists as sharp sensations like cuts and punches litter his back. 

“Sensory memory,” Maz says. “I’m sorry.” 

“Can you stop it?” 

She shakes her head. 

Ben cries out, dropping his head to the table as his side aches suddenly like he’s being ripped open from the inside out. Rose calls his name, her hands on his back and down his sides. He flinches, trying to pull his hands out of Maz’s to clutch his side when she clings tighter, surprisingly strong for such a small woman. 

“Don’t,” she says. “Stay tethered to this moment. You think this is bad you won’t like what happens if you go back there now.” 

“Go back where?” Ben asks through gritted teeth. 

“To the night you died. The first time, that is.” 

“This doesn’t-” Ben’s cut off by another gasp, his pelvis aching like he’s been hit. He can see behind his eyes, flurries of movement and blurs of skin and sprays of blood. Angry voices in a language mostly lost to time and colonial violence. 

“Benjamin, listen to me. Listen to my voice. Do not go back there.” 

Finn. He can hear Finn’s voice, calling out to him over the smack of stone to flesh and bone, a tongue he barely knows, not as guttural as his own but as familiar as it is foreign.

“Benjamin,” Maz’s voice calls, digging her nails into his wrists. He gasps like a drowning man, pulling himself up to look at her. His face is hot. Rose is stroking his hair away from his face. 

“I’m… I’m here,” he says. His throat hurts. He swallows a few times, trying to work past the knot that’s lodged itself there. 

“Yes,” she says. 

Slowly the pain begins to fade and his breathing evens out. He becomes more aware of himself, sitting in the back area of a metaphysical shop that smells like flowers and musk, his best friend’s hands on him, brushing hot tears off his cheeks. 

“That was…” 

“Do you want the good news, now?” Maz asks. 

Ben nods. “As long as that doesn’t happen again,” he says. 

“The good news is that you’ve found the one person in the world who understands what you’re going through,” she says. 

“You?” 

“Oh, no, boy. Your soulmate.” 

* * *

When Finn finds him, he’s standing in a garden, the soft scent of tea roses carrying on the wind. It’s a lovely spring evening. Or, it would be, if things were different. 

“You shouldn’t be here,” he says. His voice is high, so much higher than it’s ever been. It’s jarring, even though Finn’s heard it over and over again through the years. 

“I had to see you again,” Finn says. 

“It’s foolish,” he says. 

“When have I claimed to be anything but?” Finn asks, removing his hat as he takes to stand next to his beloved. 

He smiles with rouge painted lips and watery eyes. “What will my mother say if she sees you out here on the eve of my wedding?” he asks. 

“Nothing good, I imagine,” Finn says. “But let’s not talk about her now.” 

“What should we talk about, then?” he asks. 

Finn stares out at the fruit trees gathered at the edge of the garden, their pink petals shaking in the slight breeze. “Why should we talk about anything at all?” 

His beloved snorts, wringing his hands in the fabric of his lilac dress. “I am to be silent for the rest of my life and you wish me to hold my tongue now?” he asks. 

“I never said that, Vi.” 

His beloved huffs, tearing at his skirt. “I hate this,” he says. 

“I know,” Finn says. 

“No, you don’t. You don’t know what it’s like to be an ornament. My mother weeps because it’s my wedding. I weep because it’s my funeral.” 

“Honey, don’t talk like that.” 

“Why shouldn’t I?” he shouts, tears in his voice. “It’s over for me. I’ll be a wife and a mother and what else? They’re going to cloister me away and no one will talk to me about books and politics and everything that isn’t becoming of a  _ lady _ . No one will treat me the way you do, Phineas.” 

“Then I’ll come to you,” says Finn. “I’ll still talk to you about books and politics and whatever you’d like. Just don’t give up on me, Violet. Not now. Not ever.” 

His beloved wipes his eyes, sniffling and adamantly refusing to hide his sorrow in a hanky like he’s been told time and time again. “You know he hates you, Mr Huxley. He won’t let you anywhere near me.” 

“He doesn’t need to know.” 

“He’ll have you killed.” 

“I’d like to see them try,” says Finn. 

His beloved offers a sad smile. “Don’t joke about that.” 

Finn reaches over, stroking the back of his beloved’s slender hand. He’s shorter this time, and a different shape than usual, but there’s no mistaking who he is. Not from the moment they met, in a ballroom of all places, dragging Finn by the hand and daring anyone else in the room to say something about it. Always such fire. 

“Don’t burn out on me,” Finn says, pulling that beautiful hand away from his face. “Don’t leave me cold and alone in this world.” He presses his lips to the back of his hand, tasting the sweet tears that have flowed down past his fingertips. 

“I wish I were a bachelor, instead,” he whispers. 

“I’d love you the same,” says Finn. 

Suddenly, Finn is jolted awake by the incessant blaring of a siren, jerking to his feet before he’s fully aware that he’s awake. It’s just as well, this memory never ends well. He’s just glad he doesn’t have to relive the beating that comes next. 

Bleary and a little dizzy, Finn stands, sliding the slippers on his feet and shoving his phone into his sweatpants. His eyes adjust to the darkness of his bedroom as he wades through furniture and unfortunately piled clothes, into the hallway and the source of the noise. In the hallway, the smoke alarm is screaming and blinking red. He’s more awake than ever as he rushes down the hallway, looking for smoke or fire or anything amiss. But it’s nothing. There is no smoke or fire or anything in the hall or the den or the kitchen. 

“Goddamnit,” Finn groans. “You can’t go off in the middle of the day, can you?” He shouts up at the stupid alarm. It continues blaring while he searches the drawers for batteries. 

“I know these stupid things save lives but damn,” he mutters to himself, propping up a step ladder. 

It takes a good fifteen minutes to locate batteries, then the screwdriver, and another five to change them and finally silence the alarm. He’s back in bed, just about to drift off when his phone goes off. 

“This better be worth it,” he grumbles, before answering with a gruff, “Hello?” 

“Finn! Oh my god, Finn!” It’s Ben, and he sounds like he’s been running a damn marathon. Finn shoots up in bed for the second time that night. 

“Ben? What’s wrong?” 

“Are you okay?” 

“Yeah, I’m fine. Are you?” 

Ben’s voice shakes over the line. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay. I just… I had this dream. It felt so real.” 

“What happened?” Finn asks. 

“You were there and… it’s stupid.” 

“No, it isn’t,” Finn says. “You sound pretty freaked out.” 

“I just… it was a bad one.” 

“Well, I’m here. I’m okay. Promise.” 

Ben sighs. He’s quiet for a long time, so long that Finn has to check the phone to see if they’re still connected. And then he whispers: “I had a dream they beat the hell out of you.” 

“Who?” 

“Some guys. I don’t know. I woke up screaming.” 

“Ben…” 

“Sorry. That’s weird. I’m really sorry for calling so late. I-” 

“Ben, where do you live?” 

“...why?” 

“Look, I know it’s weird, but so is calling me at… fuck, is it really four am?” 

“Oops.” 

“Look, you sound shaken up. Can I just come over? It’s okay if you say no-” 

“Could you bring Starbucks? I’ll pay you back.” 

“Oh,” Finn says, more than a little startled. He honestly hadn’t been expecting that to work. He isn’t even really thinking right now. He just blurted it out, like the lovestruck fool he is. “Yeah, sure I can do that.” 

“Thanks, Finn.” 

“No problem. What’s your address?” 

He takes down Ben’s address, throws a shirt on, and grabs his keys. 


	7. Chapter 7

Finn has to hang the phone up when he gets in the parking lot of Ben’s apartment complex, not because he wants to, but because he’s not coordinated enough to carry two cups of coffee and a cellphone on his shoulder while walking upstairs. It only takes him a few minutes to get to Ben’s home, but even then it’s an agonizing few minutes. Ben’s waiting in the doorway when he gets into the hallway, greeting him with what’s probably supposed to be a causal wave but is too shaky to be anything close. 

They don’t speak as Ben takes his drink or leads him through the small apartment, all the way back into his bedroom. It’s the only room in the house with all the lights on. 

Ben sits on his bed, gesturing for Finn to follow. He looks more than a little pale in the light, his eyes unfocused and a little haunted, like he’s seen a ghost. It’s not all that far from being accurate. 

“Are you alright?” Finn finally asks. 

“Thanks for the coffee,” Ben says, taking a long sip from his straw. 

“Of course,” Finn says. “But seriously, are you okay? You look awful.” 

Ben shrugs. He sets the coffee on the bedside table before tucking his hands between his knees. He looks so… small for a man his size. “It’s stupid,” he says. 

“Nothing that makes you feel that way is stupid,” Finn says. 

Ben grunts but doesn’t say anything else. Finn scoots closer on the bed. 

“I get nightmares too, sometimes,” Finn says. 

“About friends?” 

“Sometimes. Sometimes I go to work without pants,” Finn says. 

Ben’s shoulders jerk as he lets out a soft snort. “I’ve never had one of those.” 

Finn shrugs, bumping Ben with his shoulder. “They’re not bad. Four out of ten on the nightmare scale.” 

Ben smiles. It’s a fragile, timid little thing, but it’s there just the same. Finn slides a hand across Ben’s shoulders, a little wary at first, but when Ben doesn’t pull away he starts rubbing circles into his back. Ben’s shoulders droop far more than he expected. 

“I think I’m going crazy,” Ben says, finally. “I keep having these dreams.” 

“Tell me about them,” says Finn. 

“They don’t make any sense. I dream about fires and drowning and bombs going off on the beach. And I dream about being in monasteries and rose gardens and foggy forests.” 

“That doesn’t seem too bad.” 

“But I’m… not me. I mean, I’m me, but no one calls me  _ Ben _ . And…” 

“And?” 

“And you’re there. But they don’t call you  _ Finn _ , either.” 

“What do they call me?” 

Ben bites his lip. He’s staring off at the wall, at the globe light he’s got on his desk. “ _ John _ .  _ Alex _ .  _ Phineas _ , this last time. But I-” He groans, balling his fists and pressing them into his eyes. 

“But you?” 

Ben stands up, dropping his fists to the side. “Okay, I’ll tell you, but don’t… don’t think I’m trying to be a creep.” 

“Okay?” 

“Sometimes I call you  _ love _ . Or  _ darling _ . Or  _ sweetheart _ . And I wouldn’t say anything but they’re so real, Finn. I’ve never had a dream that I couldn’t tell from reality but these are vivid. I can feel your hands on mine when I wake up and your lips and your-” He clears his throat, looking off towards the open doorway. “And they don’t always happen when I’m sleeping either.” 

Finn nods, taking a deep breath. “I don’t think you’re crazy,” he says. 

Ben’s fists uncurl as he huffs. He’s still standing a bit too still and not looking at Finn but the flustered energy leaves the room bit by bit. “Thank you,” says Ben. 

“You’re not even the first person to tell me that,” says Finn. 

“I’m not?” 

“Nope,” Finn says, setting his own drink on the floor before rising to his feet. “I’ve been having dreams, too,” he says. 

Ben rolls his eyes. “Look I-”

“This last one was bad, wasn’t it? You were standing in a garden and it was the night before your wedding. We were just talking and they pulled me away from you. Beat the snot outta me,” Finn says, hedging closer to Ben. 

“How did you know that?” 

“I had that one tonight. I have that one over and over again, sometimes when you’re not around.” 

“What are you-” 

Finn cuts Ben off, taking his hand. His palms are slightly clammy, but it’s alright. “It’s not a dream, Ben. It’s a memory.” 

“A past life thing?” Ben asks, frowning. 

“It is.” 

Ben sighs, pulling his hand out of Finn’s to run it through his hair. “Your book is about past lives,” he says. 

“Yes.” 

“Are you… Finn, I...”

Ben looks so lost, so desperate, and it breaks Finn’s heart. He hedges his bets, and decides it’s now or never. If Ben takes it badly, well, there’s always next time. “Ben, I need to tell you something.” 

“What?” Ben asks. 

Finn takes a deep breath, rubbing his hands over his thighs. “The book isn’t fiction,” he says. “Florian and Aodh are real. Well, were real.” 

“A Roman soldier and an ancient Scottish clansman?” 

“I know how it sounds, and I know you don’t believe in it, but just hear me out okay? You’re owed that much,” says Finn. “They existed. And for some reason, I’m still not even sure why, Aodh didn’t kill Florian when he had the chance. And then they… fell in love. And they were punished for it. Aodh was killed and Florian was cursed never to die, so they’d never get to rest because-” 

“-because soulmates don’t rest alone in the afterlife,” Ben finishes. 

“How? How do you know that?” 

“Some old witch told me,” Ben says. 

“Oh, so you believe in witches but you don’t believe in soulmates?” Finn scoffs. 

Ben finally turns to look at him, big brown eyes shining in the dark. “It is you, isn’t it?” 

Finn’s tongue refuses to move, his heart beating overtime in his chest. “Yes,” he whispers, barely audible to himself. 

Ben licks his lips, drawing closer. His eyes drift before he locks onto Finn once more, staring, really staring at him, for the first time this lifetime. “You’ve waited a long time, haven’t you.” 

“Wait time is relative when time’s all you’ve got,” says Finn. They’re so close Finn can almost feel the thing between them, the strange magic of indescribable circumstances, the thrumming of their hearts and souls in the still night. 

Ben leans in first but Finn meets him in the middle, their warm lips joining once again and they fall into the kiss like it’s their thousandth instead of their first because for all intents and purposes it is. Ben still tastes as sweet as he always has, his trembling breath fanning across Finn’s cheek as they lean into each other, coaxing lips and tongues apart and together again. 

“I’ve missed you terribly,” Finn whispers in the space between their breaths. 

Ben answers with a soft sigh as he brings his hand to cradle the back of Finn’s neck. It leaves Finn feeling like both the moar and the tempest-tossed ship. 

It's easy to fall into the gentle back and forth, the give and take of kisses as they sway into each other. As Ben pulls off to breathe Finn ducks down to nip at Ben's throat, to taste the sweat on his skin and feel his pulse beat under his tongue. Ben shivers, laughing lightly. 

“Are we really doing this?” Ben asks. 

“Do you want to?” asks Finn. 

Ben nods, his nose brushing against Finn’s cheek until it becomes an excuse for their lips to meet again. Ben falls backward, shimmying up the bed until he's firmly in the center. Finn rejoins him. 

Ben's hands are cold as they run up Finn's back, dragging his shirt with them until it's dropped on Ben's floor. 

"I don't know if I've told you this but you're fucking hot," Ben says, burning his face in Finn's neck as he drags teeth across tender skin. 

Finn chuckles. He threads his fingers through Ben's silky hair, drawing him up until he's sitting between Finn's legs. Finn makes short work of Ben's own shirt, then his sweats and underwear until they're forced to separate as Ben kicks the last of his clothes off and Finn walks on his knees until he can get his own bottoms off. Ben winds up hitting Finn with the leg of his sweats and Finn loses his balance, half-landing on Ben's chest. 

"Smooth," Ben says with a soft chuckle. 

"You love it," Finn says, kissing the tip of his nose. Finn's hands travel down the solid muscle of Ben's chest, through the dark hair on his stomach before stopping right above his erection. Ben responds by scraping his nails across Finn’s side. “And you love this,” Finn says, tracing the vein in Ben’s cock with his fingertip. Ben gasps. 

Finn continues to trail up and down Ben’s cock with only a fingertip, causing Ben’s thighs to twitch and jerk while he bites down gasps and frustrated little moans. 

“The things I want to do to you,” says Finn. 

“Like what?” Ben asks, his voice breathy. 

“Anything. Everything. I want to see what still drives you wild. You used to love it when I sucked hickies into your thighs and when I pulled your hair when I sat on your dick.” 

Ben shivers. “Yes, that, do that.” 

“Which one?” 

“The second,” Ben says, squeezing Finn’s ass. “There’s stuff in the drawer.” 

Finn finds lube in the bedside drawer. He bats Ben’s hands away when he tries to assist as Finn raises up on his knees, hovering over Ben’s hips. 

“You just sit there and watch,” he says, slicking up his fingers and reaching back to tease himself. 

Ben bites his lip, his eyes unfocused with want as he watches. Idly, he reaches down and strokes his own cock. “You’re fucking sexy,” he says. 

“Not bad yourself,” Finn says, pressing in. “I missed this,” he says. 

“What was it like last time?” Ben asks. 

“Quick,” Finn says, working himself over. He doesn’t want to rush it, but he really doesn’t want to draw this out. He can do that at home but now all he wants is his beloved again. “You were smaller. You liked it when I hauled you up and took you against the wall.” 

“Do you think you could do that now?” Ben asks. 

Finn stops, fingers still inside himself. “ _ Now _ now?” 

“No,” Ben laughs. “Later. Do you think you could lift me?” 

“If not we’ll just have to get a swing or something,” Finn says. Ben groans, and it sends sparks straight through Finn’s whole body. 

“Tell me more,” Ben says. “What have we done?” 

“Oh, baby, we’ve done it all,” Finn says, trying his best for seductive. It must land at least a little because Ben licks his lips and strokes himself faster. “Used to gag yourself on my dick,” he says. “You loved it when I left marks on your back and when I bit you. You’d come in a minute if I played with this,” he says, pressing two fingers to the flesh behind Ben’s balls, “When I fucked you.” 

Ben’s eyes flutter shut as his breathing hitches. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah. And you like it when I come on your thighs. When it mixed with your own. Said if left like we were one.” 

Ben drops his dick, his hands fisting in the bedsheets. “Are you almost ready?” he asks. 

“Gettin’ there,” says Finn. He could make it work, but Ben’s big and he doesn’t want to risk it. 

“Please hurry. Wanna feel you.” 

Finn grabs one of Ben’s hands and sets it on his thigh. “Touch me,” he says. 

Ben squeezes, groaning at the slight give of the muscle. “Fuck, I want you to fuck me,” he says. 

Fuck it. Finn’s not waiting anymore. He’s already done enough of that. Ben gasps as Finn slicks up his cock, the lube still a little cold between their skin, but neither of them cares. He lines up, sighing as the soft head of Ben’s cock meets his hole. 

“You ready?” 

Ben nods. Finn sinks down, meeting more resistance than he’d like. Ben groans when the head finally slips in. It takes a few minutes of slow movement, Finn sliding down then pulling up when it’s too much, in order to get used to it. When he’s taken as much as he can he stills and catches Ben’s lips once more. They lose minutes in that kiss, neither willing to pull away and get on with it. It’s good like this. Amazing, even, and Finn hopes every little thing he’s feeling is translated lip to lip and breath to breath. 

Finally, they part to breathe but Ben doesn’t let him get too far. He wraps his arms around Finn’s neck, his nails dragging lightly across his shoulders before raising his hips slowly. Finn takes the hint and pulls up, then falls back down. Together they build a rhythm, slow and gentle, a quiet thrill between the two of them until they’re both too antsy to keep it up and Ben’s head is thrown back. His neck is exposed, so Finn leaves love bites there, groaning and grunting into the flesh as Ben’s restless legs pull up, driving him deeper. Ben is unwilling to unwrap from Finn’s shoulders, too enraptured to do anything but take the pleasure and murmur nonsense about how good it feels. Finn strokes his own cock, helpless as their thighs start to jerk and hips lose their rhythm. 

Ben comes grunting, his teeth biting his lip white. Finn follows after, gasping against Ben’s neck. 

Slowly they untangle themselves but stay chest to chest as the afterglow and the first rays of a new day settle over them. 

“I love you,” Finn whispers. Ben’s already most of the way to sleep, but he smiles just the same. 

\-----

_ Three Months Later  _

“I can’t believe you’re moving in with a guy you’ve known for only a few months,” Rose says, hefting the last of Ben’s boxes into the back of Finn’s car. She doesn’t mean anything bad by it, Ben knows, she just insists on reminding him how ridiculous his life is. Because this is what Ben Solo does now: he moves in with the love of his life after a few months because he is a hopeless sap. 

“It’s a lot more than that, Rose,” Ben says. 

Rose groans and rolls her eyes. “Don’t be a perv, Ben.” 

“Oh shut up, that’s not what I meant and you know it.” 

“Oh, you meant the sappy shit like stealing your heart and lighting up your life, don’t you?” 

Ben sticks his tongue out at her. “You don’t have to be jealous, you know.”

“Like I’d be jealous of you for any reason,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest. 

“You know, you’re probably gonna have to get Rey’s number now, considering you don’t have a reason to be spying on her anymore,” Ben says. 

“Actually-” 

“Hey Ben,” Rey’s voice comes from around the corner. She’s carrying a basket in her arms. “I know you’re not moving into a  _ new _ new place but it’s a tradition in my family to give these as housewarming presents,” she says, handing it to him. “It’s just like, muffins and stuff. Rose said you like strawberry so there’s some in there.” She wraps her arm around Rose’s shoulder and presses a kiss to her cheek. 

“Thanks...” Ben says, taking it. “When did you two…?” 

“Remember three weeks ago when I walked in without knocking?” Rose asks. 

“Three weeks!” 

“I caught her in the hallway. We commiserated.” 

“You’re very loud,” says Rey. 

Ben’s sure his face is beet red. “I am not! I… you. Three weeks and you didn’t tell me? Is commiserate a euphemism?” 

“Just ‘cause you’re sex-crazed doesn’t mean everyone else is,” Rose says. Rey winks and nods. 

“How come I was left outta the loop? This is important information!” 

“Tell you what, you invite us over for dinner this week and we’ll tell you everything-” says Rose. 

Ben rolls his eyes. “I was gonna do that anyway.” 

“-if you get your sugar daddy to make steak.” 

“He’s not my sugar daddy!” 

Rose rolls her eyes. “Whatever you say, Solo.” 

They part with a hug and a kiss on the cheek, and Ben watches as Rose and Rey make their way back up the stairs and into Rey’s apartment. 

“You gonna miss it?” Finn asks as they pull out of the driveway. 

“Nah, it’s just a place,” Ben says. “I’d rather not… you know.” He doesn’t need to say it. They’re both aware of the clock ticking against them. It’s strange, to be so aware of your own mortality, but Ben finds he is now almost every day. He doesn’t want to waste any time, not now when he has Finn, when his memories come back in flickers and flashes. So many lifetimes they’ve spent apart, so many they’ve barely had together. Some nights Ben stays awake, just watching Finn sleep, painfully aware that someday he’ll die and they’ll have to start all over again. Someday Finn will be alone again. 

“Hey,” Finn says, taking his hand, “Don’t get lost again.” They’re so in tune, so aware of what the other is thinking, even when they say nothing at all. They should be. They’re made for each other, after all. 

“Sorry,” Ben says. 

Finn kisses his knuckles and squeezes his hand.  _ I’m here,  _ he says without words.  _ I’ve always been here.  _

Ben thinks back to the first time Finn told him about his soulmate, about how he was never alone, as long as they loved each other. Ben squeezes back.  _ Me too, always.  _


End file.
